


the artist.

by mllevangogh



Category: Les Miserables, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Handporn, M/M, but not really porn at all sry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:43:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mllevangogh/pseuds/mllevangogh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>enjolras asks grantaire for a favor, and grantaire surprises him by actually coming through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the artist.

**Author's Note:**

> just a short e x r drabble about art and hands and stuff! reviews are appreciated, if you're so inclined.

the man named grantaire is a a mystery. enjolras had disliked him on sight for always being drunk, for not taking anything seriously, and for being generally distracting. no one gets anything done when grantaire is in one of his moods, and that seems to be the way grantaire likes it. enjolras asks him why he's here, if he's not serious about the cause, and grantaire only shrugs, looking impishly at enjolras's mouth. it's enough to drive anyone mad.

it turns out, of course, there is more to grantaire than he'd first thought. there's the juggling, which he is surprisingly good at and uses to disrupt everything, juggling bottles of rum and whisky. (he never breaks a bottle. enjolras is convinced it's just luck.)

there's the dancing, which is surprising too - grantaire is shockingly graceful, and he is guilty often of sweeping combeferre off his feet and into an elaborate waltz, which combeferre, to his credit, half-heartedly tries to escape.

but enjolras isn't expecting the art, mostly because he isn't expecting grantaire to be so - intellectual, to tell the truth. grantaire takes nothing seriously, not even revolution, so how could he possibly take art seriously? enjolras thinks art is a highly noble pursuit and it sort of itches that grantaire can be so good at it. and he is. good at it, that is. 

enjolras is supposed to stop by grantaire's flat to get a poster design from him, something he is certain he has forgotten about, but when he enters, grantaire is sitting at a canvas with a piece of charcoal in his long, graceful hands.

the sight of it sends a jolt up enjolras's spine. he's drawing a face, a woman's, and it's beautiful and serene. but what's more surprising is the care grantaire is taking, using one hand to create jagged swoops of black across the canvas and the other to gently rub the harsh lines into softness. enjolras watches his long, thin fingers caress the canvas, smoothing one eye and then the other. there's charcoal under his nails and all in the creases of his fingers. enjolras sees the way his palm lies against the texture of the canvas, the way the bits of charcoal fly into the air with each stroke. it's positively obscene, the way his hands are forming the curves of the woman's lips, stroking hair into existence.

enjolras's heart is beating stupidly fast and he hates himself for it. he clears his throat.

grantaire turns around, grinning. "ah, dear apollo. how nice of you to visit."

enjolras coughs. "i'm here for the poster. unless…"

"unless i've forgotten?" asks grantaire, smiling wider. "not a chance." he stands, pulling his shirt down with his dusty hands, leaving slashes of dark black on the white fabric. it gives enjolras an ulcer. 

he dives behind the easel and pulls out a rolled poster, holding it out for enjolras to take. enjolras, who is feeling very jarred and slightly annoyed by this whole experience, snatches it hastily, their fingers brushing. there is a light sheen of grey on enjolras's hand where grantaire's fingers have touched it. he feels a little sick. 

"apollo?" 

"please don't call me that," snaps enjolras, feeling slightly dazed. "it isn't - "

"appropriate?" suggests grantaire, and enjolras makes a sound in the back of his throat. 

" - accurate."

grantaire laughs, and enjolras wishes he'd just sent fucking combeferre here instead. grantaire moves toward him suddenly, stopping inches from enjolras's face. he can see the shades of blue in grantaire's eyes. enjolras is not sure why he is not moving. 

"apollo," breathes grantaire, and does not kiss him. instead, he moves a palm to the side of enjolras's face, who does not even flinch when the dark charcoal smudges on his cheek because here are the pads grantaire's fingers, tracing his cheekbones, and there is his thumb flitting over enjolras's eyelashes. enjolras inhales sharply as grantaire continues like this, his long fingers sliding over his cheeks, a thumb tracing his jaw, nails gently combing up the back of enjolras's neck as his fingers tangle in his hair. enjolras makes a muted, strangled sound, and grantaire pauses. 

"it's - nice," says enjolras, finally, and grantaire smiles, placing his fingers against the soft curves of enjolras's lips as if he is reading them. 

when enjolras leaves, poster in hand, his face looks like it has been composed of ash.


End file.
